


Awards Season

by gracediamondsfear



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Actor Ben, Boss/Employee Relationship, Chef Rey, Dirty Talk, F/M, Fluffy Smut, Masturbation, Mention of past relationships, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, absolute filth, and a little bit of fluffy stuff, just wall to wall sex, mention of drug use, modern day AU, purely by accident, rey with no pants, tiny pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:09:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29665017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gracediamondsfear/pseuds/gracediamondsfear
Summary: Ben Solo has finally been nominated for best actor, but when someone else wins he ducks out of the ceremony early to go home and sulk.Rey Sands is his personal chef. Thinking she’s home alone for the night, she’s making herself at home and hoping her boss will come home in a good mood.He doesn’t, but she quickly helps to turn that all around.
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 8
Kudos: 187





	Awards Season

Ben clapped his driver on the back as he unfolded out of the running towncar, already pulling at the knot of his bowtie. The cobblestones of his driveway seemed a little uneven…actually the world seemed a little uneven. He took a deep breath and blinked, leaning on the car for stability. He’d only had three drinks all afternoon. Probably should have eaten something. He could already hear her scolding him in his head.

“Thanks Mitaka,” he said, swallowing down a burp and waving at the sparkling woman in the backseat. “Make sure she gets wherever she needs to go.”

“Absolutely sir, see you on Tuesday sir,” the chauffeur said, walking back to the driver side of the car with a curt nod. 

Ben wasn’t sure what was happening on Tuesday.

He undid the rest of his tie and the first buttons of his tuxedo shirt as he slowly made his way up to the front door of the house. No matter how many tailors he went to, how many designers begged to “dress him”, these stupid button down shirts always seemed too tight, too constricting and there was always a button to be sewn back on at the last minute. Of course he hated tuxes in general, but that was a whole different story. Standing at the front door, he fumbled with his phone looking for the entry alarm code and door unlock code and lights on code and nuclear code and whatever else he needed to just go inside and go to bed.

He hated awards season.

* * *

Rey switched off the t.v. and made her way back to the kitchen on the other side of the sprawling ranch style house. As long as he wasn’t there she was perfectly comfortable in her half assed top knot and faded black _Curse From The Stars_ t-shirt, an XL that Ben had given her as a birthday gift after the premiere of the film. Too small for him, too big for her, it nearly hung to her knees.

“BB turn up kitchen lights!” She called out, pulling milk and fresh pecans from the refrigerator. “Play classic rock.”

Mr. Routine Ben Solo ate overnight oats every morning before his 2k lap swim and it was Rey Sands’ job to make them…without raisins. If he’d asked her opinion she would prefer to sometimes make crepes with fresh fruit or maybe a vegetable frittata, but he wasn’t really a “foodie” per se, just someone who required a lot of calories simply to remain upright. And he was the boss. As she mixed the oats, almond milk and greek yogurt, the song changed to Carry On Wayward Son and since she was alone, Rey began to sing.

* * *

Ben kicked one of his black leather shoes off sending it bouncing across the foyer and pulled a hand down his face, sighing with exhaustion, his jaw tired from smiling and talking and faking enthusiasm. Somewhere in the darkness down the hall he heard music playing and managed a genuine grin. She always had music playing no matter what, and it was always different. The Beatles one day, Schubert the next, Sabbath, Erasure, Rammstein, Herman’s Hermits…somehow she knew all the words all the time and sang them at full volume in a key of her choosing. Dropping his tux jacket on the chair in the foyer, he shuffled towards the kitchen in his sock feet, knowing he’d find her there. After the ceremony he’d wanted to come home, pout beneath a hot shower and go straight to bed with a sexy Xanax. The champagne and whiskey he’d been drinking was finally catching up to him and he knew he’d have a headache in the morning. Nothing about this night was working out how he’d imagined.

But now he stood in the doorway and watched her work with her back to him, chopping up dates or cranberries or some other little god awful fruit that she said was good for his immune system or something. The outfit was a surprise as she was usually in a pair of yoga pants and a plain grey t-shirt, or jeans and a black turtleneck, something almost overwhelmingly modest. Yet here she was dancing alone, half naked and wiggling her ass; her legs long and slim, tan from laying out by the pool, and revealed to the thigh as she danced in the t-shirt that just barely covered her incredible behind. With a swing of her hips he caught sight of her panties for a brief second before they were hidden away again and he felt a throb in his balls. It had been a while.

“…Lay your weary head to reeeest, don’t you cry no more!” She sang into a whisk, throwing her head back dramatically. “Oh shit! Ben! Hey, you just snuck right in! I thought you’d be at the afterparties. You said there were…after…and I was just...” her voice trailed off as she ran around trying to look busy.

Eventually Rey just set her knife down and turned, leaning against the counter to catch her breath and reset her ponytail. Ben didn’t move from the doorway, just nodded in his usual, Sasquatch like repartee to let her know he was indeed there and had heard her speak.

She knew he wasn’t happy. She’d watched the ceremony from the moment he left the house, sitting on the edge of the couch, waiting for him to show up on the red carpet. He’d agreed to take his ex, Bazine to the awards because he hated people asking him questions about his personal life and she dazzled enough for the both of them, smiling and laughing and making witty jabs at reporters. Still, as the flashbulbs went off Rey kept her eyes trained on him, brooding and stoic behind his diamond clad date, occasionally granting a raised eyebrow or the tiniest lopsided grin to a screaming photographer waving in his direction. He didn’t like dressing up, but that night he looked so good with his neatly trimmed goatee and his well tailored suit, Rey wouldn’t have missed a minute of the coverage for all the world.

After years of hard work he was finally nominated for best actor and the buzz had been positive. He’d tried to act like it didn’t matter, like awards were silly things for shallow people, but the day he found out she’d actually heard him whistling, which was a Haley’s Comet type event, and he’d actually complimented her on her grilled salmon salad. Of course his award was one of the last of the night and she'd chewed her nails to the quick waiting for his name to be called. He smiled as they listed the nominations, looking down at his hands; there had been a heart pounding minute of stress, and then…

_Aaron Hempstead!_

Her heart dropped like a brick, a sour taste filling her mouth. He’s asked her to put champagne in the fridge to celebrate and she’d made red velvet cake to go with it, dense and buttery with thick cream cheese frosting, entirely unhealthy and absolutely his favorite. The camera focused on Ben’s forced smile and eager applause. Aaron had played a blind teacher fighting for one child’s justice in a world that had counted him out or some shit. He was a good actor. A nice guy.

Rey liked Ben better.

“Didn’t feel like going to a party,” he said, and she could hear that he’d had a few drinks. Not wasted, but a bit off kilter. His eyelids were heavy and his whole body looked limp and tired. She’d known him long enough to read his body language.

“…yeah, I guess not.” Rey rewrapped her ponytail for a third time and went back to putting away the overnight oats. It was too quiet and too dark and they were too alone for her to feel comfortable without pants.

“This is a new look for you,” Ben said, crossing his arms over his chest and grinning at her.

“I’m so sorry sir,” she said, reverting into employee mode. For some reason he’d always liked when she called him sir. “I was just getting ready to go to bed and I remembered…”

After throwing the oats in the fridge she tried to shoulder past him, his giant jungle gym of a body, but he’d taken over the doorway and was staring down at her, staring, his eyes far too steady at that moment for a drunk man.

“I don’t feel like going to bed yet,” he said, looking into her forest colored eyes, the little dusting of freckles scattered across her nose like a constellation, the dip of the cupids bow in her lip.

Rey had been his chef, life coach, hangover nurse, assistant for nearly three years. After Bazine moved out the house had seemed so empty and he’d all but fallen apart. Too much alcohol, brief adventures in cocaine, skipping out on agent meetings, and generally slipping into the dark side. After a particularly foul run in with a dumbass stand in on that movie he filmed in…that place…Hungary? Denmark? Montana? His manager Hux had suggested he make a change. And by suggested, he meant: I’ve hired this babysitter and if you don’t keep her on staff you won’t be able to get work as an extra in a Flex Tape commercial, so good luck!

For weeks, months, he all but ignored her, sneaking to his room to do a line or roll up a joint. He slept until two in the afternoon and wandered the house in black sweatpants and a t-shirt, turning his nose up at her “clean eating” and “protein rich” salads topped with grilled fucking salmon. When she was done cooking she would swim laps in the backyard pool and he would watch from his bedroom window; her long, golden tan limbs cutting through the water, her perfect little ass filling out the white bottom of her bikini. She was beautiful. And it took a long while for him to realize it but…

He wanted her. And now she was standing in the darkened doorway of his kitchen with wide, moss colored eyes staring up at him. Her whole body was taut, brimming with energy like a tightly coiled spring and he realized he probably should have told her all of this before. He should have told her how she had basically saved his life. She had pulled him out of a dark, swirling whirlpool that no one had even seen him falling into. And it wasn’t just her healthy cooking or driving him to his therapist appointments or making sure there were no drugs in the house. It was in the way she was always smiling, even when she was sitting by herself, flipping through a magazine. It was the way she made shamrock shaped cookies on St Patrick’s day and set them next to his protein shake. It was the way she sang every song and danced in the kitchen, waiting up for him after a long and horrible day, determined to make him laugh. He was pretty sure he loved her.

But it would be silly to tell her that now.

* * *

She stood, frozen in his gaze, wondering what she was supposed to do next. He was her boss. He was an A list movie star. He was…Ben…fucking Solo. She had no right to expect him to strip out of his suit and screw her up against the wall. And yet, that was exactly the intention she saw in the expression on his face, the slight upturn of his usually frowning mouth, the glittering energy in his topaz eyes. She took a deep breath.

“Oh, well, what did you…did you need something from me?” She asked, the words tumbling from her mouth like bricks.

Her face was on fire. She’d imagined smoothly seducing him a thousand times and never once was she standing in front of him in a ratty t-shirt with mascara smudges under her eyes and hair that hadn’t been washed in two days.

He hummed a single wondering note deep in the back of his throat, something between a word and a growl and reached out his hand, stroking a lock of her hair from root to tip then showing her his fingers…

“Oatmeal,” he said, showing her the white grain he’d pulled out.

He let out a short laugh and flicked it away, but didn’t move from the doorway. In fact, he stepped in a bit closer, backing her against the frame and she swallowed loudly, caught somewhere between horny and mortified.

“I want so much from you, little chef,” he murmured, tipping his head to the side. “I should have asked for it ages ago.”

* * *

When Hux had first explained the job to her she’d thought he was joking. He’d been a regular at the beachside cafe she worked at in Santa Monica, coming in three or four times a week for months before finally approaching her. Apparently it had been some sort of audition. 

“Ben Solo. THE Ben Solo, from that show on FX?” She asked, refreshing Hux’s tea pot with hot water.

Solo had practically been given the Nobel Prize for the amount of times he showed his bare ass on three seasons of NY Nights and now he was right on the cusp of being A list in Hollywood. And he was gorgeous. And newly single.

“Yes, but he needs…some focus right now,” Hux said, lowering his voice. “I’m afraid he’s hit a rough patch.”

It had certainly been an understatement. Ben had barely acknowledged her for the first two weeks she lived in his house. Hux had been the one to give her a tour, show her the little suite of rooms that would belong to her and lay out her list of duties.

“He’s just falling apart, I’m afraid,” Hux said, lighting a cigarette. They were standing on the patio, looking out over the glassy still pool while Ben was passed out in the living room. “I want you to keep him going. Keep him healthy. If he were left alone he’d probably survive on vodka and cereal...but not for very long.”

“I can’t…I’m not a drug counselor Armie,” she said, sitting down to dip her toes in the water, watching the ripples spread and grow across the surface. She’d always loved swimming, always dreamed of having a pool. “I’m a cook. I can make him lunch and do yoga that’s about it.”

“I’m not asking for an AA sponsor Rey,” he said, looking over her head toward the house. “He just needs to get through this breakup in one piece.”

It had taken a long time. How many nights had she helped him into bed, making sure he slept on his side in case he threw up? How many times did she bring him water and Tylenol when he’d begged her to call a doctor for Vicodin? But slowly, slowly, like befriending a wounded animal, he started to change. He wandered in and sat with her while she watched movies, asking her what she liked about them and recommending others. He asked her why she did yoga and whether he would “look stupid doing it”. It had taken nearly a year for him to warm up to her, and by then, she was feeling far more than warm.

* * *

Her eyes sparkled in the low light and he lifted a hand to touch her again. The lock of hair had been like silk between his fingers and he wanted more; to touch her skin, her eyelashes, feel her pulse, the warm wetness of her tongue. As if hearing his thoughts she swallowed audibly, her lips parting with a tiny wet sound and he couldn’t wait any longer. Diving forward he closed his mouth over hers, pressing her against the doorframe as he held her face in his hands, his tongue slipping tentatively over hers.

Rey pressed her hands to his chest, moving her fingers up to his throat and the stubbly skin of his cheek. With a whimper she let him in deeper, their tongues twisting and hot as she moaned into his mouth. The sound of her pleasure spurred him on and Ben sunk his fingers into her hair, pulling her head to the side to expose her throat. His wet mouth slid away from hers, nibbling at her jawline before finding the soft, tender skin just behind her ear. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and whined at the sounds of his sucking kisses.

“Ple..please…” she whispered, “more.”

“You want more?” He asked, taking her earlobe between his teeth, his voice a low rasping purr as he licked at the skin. “Tell me what you want, little chef.”

Her mind went blank. Part of her just wanted him to keep talking, to keep whispering filth and delicious promises in her ear, and part of her wanted him to bend her over the kitchen counter and rail her within an inch of her life. The thought of it made her whine and he noticed, chuckling in her ear as his fingers trailed down her arm to the swell of her breast.

“Ah, what made you shiver just then?” He asked, his huge hand easily cupping her entire tit, massaging slowly as he whispered to her. “Did your pussy clench thinking about me? Is it warm and wet?”

Rey nodded, completely unable to speak as he slid his hand up under her oversized shirt, rolling her nipple between his fingers.

“Tell me, chef, were you nice and wet before I even got home? Thinking about me?”

Part of him was simply seeking to turn her on, to get her blood pumping for him as he explored her body; but the other part, the quietly broken part wanted to know the answer. Had she been thinking of him? Had she been wanting him as long as he had wanted her, standing outside her bedroom door in the middle of the night, wondering if he could walk in, wondering what she was doing, alone on the other side?

When he was with Baze their life was nothing but sex. If they weren’t fucking they were recovering from fucking or talking about fucking, wondering when they could fuck next. She filled the DVR with porn of all varieties, the bedside table crammed full of toys and creams. They took pictures and made videos and hid them in deep, buried files on his laptop. They were actors and so roleplay came easy to them, sometimes playing their games for days at a time, losing themselves in their pornographic roles. It was almost as if they were trying to prove how badly they wanted one another when really there wasn't much there to anchor them. It was a one night stand that went on for three years. Looking back it was probably two and a half too long.

With Rey, it felt different already. Yes he wanted her. He wanted to fuck her, to taste her, to hear her screaming his name, but he also wanted to know what shows she watched when he heard her t.v. mumbling through the hallways at night. He wanted to know what she read, why she loved music so much, how she knew Hux. He wanted to consume her.

She only nodded her answer, looking up at him through her lashes, her back arching away from the wall, pushing her breast deeper into the palm of his hand. Her nipple was like a warm little bead beneath his fingers and he rolled it gently, pinching just enough to make her cry out then letting go so the blood could rush back. Slipping his other hand beneath her shirt, he held her other breast, kissing her on the mouth as he worked, taking great notice of how she pushed her hips against him.

“You want me to suck them? Pull these little pink berries between my lips, scrape my teeth over them?”

She nodded again and reached down to pull the old t-shirt over her head, surprised when he stopped her, putting her arms at her sides.

“Patience,” he said, kissing her neck, the hollow of her throat. “I’ll see it all soon enough. Tell me though, what do you like?”

“I…I don’t…” her mind was so full it was blank.

She couldn’t possibly list all of the various fantasies she’d had about him, couldn’t put into words how she wanted to both make love to him in his California King sized bed on his wine colored sheets but also get on her knees in the kitchen and lick buttercream frosting off his dick. Right now she just wanted him to keep touching her in the dark kitchen hallway, no music, no toys, no lingerie, just them. She just wanted to be alone with him focusing on her.

“What do you want? Tell me what you want me to do for you,” He said between kisses, his hand sliding down to cover her belly, warm and smooth. “You’ve done so much for me, and I’ve been such an ass...”

“Ben,” she dared to move her hands, to pull him away from her neck. His cheeks were red, pupils blown wide in the dark, his full, pink lips kiss bruised and dusky. “You don’t have to do this, not if you...”

“I do. I want you. For months I’ve wanted you, I’ve just been too stubborn and scared to tell you.”

His hand slid down further, tracing along the thin band of her panties, plain grey cotton, no lace, no bows. Pressing his forehead to Rey’s, never taking his eyes away from hers, he slipped two thick fingers beneath the waistband, down to the narrow strip of hair.

“I’ve wanted to touch you, to kiss you, lick you,” he murmured, moving to trace his tongue along the line of her jaw, down to the pulse on her neck. “I’ve wanted to spread you open with my fingers and feel how wet you could get for me, feel it drip onto my hand.”

“Do it,” she said, a bit too insistent, a bit too quick, giving away how tightly she was wound beneath his touch.

Again she reached for her panties, to slide them down her legs and again he stopped her, clucking his tongue in disappointment.

“What’s the rush?” He asked.

And even though his lips were against her ear she could tell he was grinning. She’d always considered it a victory when she made him smile.

“I want you,” she answered, the words tinged with exasperation, reaching for the buttons of his shirt that were already straining across his broad chest. She’d probably repaired more buttons than any other personal chef in Los Angeles.

Ben wanted to stop her. He wanted to stay in control of the situation for fear of what would happen when he lost it. Although he knew from some of their late night conversations that she wasn’t a virgin, he knew nothing about Rey’s experiences. He knew nothing about what she wanted from a lover and he had a tendency toward…passion; intensity that could be frightening, that had left marks in the wall behind his bed, broken lamps and picture frames, bite marks on his partner. With her, he needed to be careful, because if he fucked it up he’d never recover. Still, watching her expertly undo the buttons on his shirt and pull the undone bow tie from his collar was making his heart pound harder. He could feel the pulse in his throat. She pushed his sleeves over his shoulders and ran her hands down his arms. It was Rey who’d convinced him to start swimming, toning and stretching the muscles in his arms while clearing the cobwebs and dirt from his head; so now he was happy to have her reap the benefits. His jaw clenched tight as she went up on her toes to press an open mouthed kiss to the side of his neck then to the dark and angular tattoo on his chest just beneath his collarbone. He’d gotten it right after Bazine left him, a bizarre and angry response to the emptiness he’d felt and it almost shamed him to feel Rey pay homage to it, to trace the outline of the black spoked wheel with her tongue.

Still she moved downward, kissing the length of his sternum, then the rippled muscles of his stomach. When her hands moved to the buckle of his belt he stopped her, grabbing hold of her biceps and pushing her against the wall.

“Tell me what you want, Rey” he said, nearly growling now, all teasing set aside. “You have to tell me.”

“I thought…I thought it was obvious,” she said, flashing a devastating yet entirely natural smile, her eyes glittering in the dark. “I want to fuck you Ben.”

His dick ached in the tight confines of his dress trousers and he grunted in frustration, still holding her against the wall as he steadied his breath. He could be soft. He could go slow.

“I want you to touch me again,” she said, moving her own hand to the front of her panties, stroking herself over the fabric.

It only took a second for them to darken with her juices, the cotton molded to the outer lips of her wet cunt. She closed her eyes, sunk her teeth into her lower lip and let her slim little fingers move faster, digging the wet fabric into her pussy, her hips starting to rock. He slid his hands from her arms and stepped back, tipping his head to watch her work.

“Please Ben,” she whined. “I want you.”

“I can see that. Look at you, dripping like a peach,” he muttered as he worked the tail of his belt through the silver buckle. “Go on, keep going,” he said when she stopped to watch him. “Inside. Feel the wet inside.”

Having been single for nearly five years Rey had become something of a world champion at masturbation, but she’d never…performed for anyone else. The last time she’d had a partner she’d been a much younger woman and their sex had included all the expected moves and nothing more, even to the point where it became something of a chore. Now, with Ben standing before her she knew she’d do anything he asked. His touch, his words, his kiss made her feel feral, adrenaline racing through her veins, a sort of insatiable hunger heating her belly that translated to a kind of adventurous bravery. Perhaps she’d never truly felt lust before.

Maybe this was all meant to happen.

“I want you to touch me,” she said, even as she slipped her hand inside her panties and parted her lips with two fingers, easily sliding two inside her pussy.

“I’m going to, little chef. But it looks like you could come just thinking about it. Am I right?”

He pulled the black leather belt free from its loops as she continued to fuck herself, the heel of her hand pressing into her clit as she crooked her fingers, straining to hit the right spot. When she didn’t answer right away he stepped into her space and tipped her chin up with his fingertips.

“Am I right, peach? Do you think you could come for me right now? Without me touching you? Just thinking about what it’s going to be like when I lick you clean or when I flip you onto your belly and fuck into you from behind? How is it going to feel when my spunk is dripping out of you, down your legs?”

Rey’s knees trembled and he smiled, brushing his lips over her forehead.

“Y-yes,” she breathed, “I’m going to…”

“I know, I can see the way your cheeks are flushed. Keep going. Is your pussy clenching your fingers yet? Is your clit aching?”

She nodded and he let her go on for another few seconds, just until he heard a low rumbling sound from the back of her throat. Sensing she was close and growing frustrated, Ben wrapped a thick arm around her waist and pushed his thigh up between her spread legs, feeling her hand jerk and wiggle, her pussy hot and wet against him. Just as she was about to go over, stumbling into his chest, he leaned into her ear and whispered,

“I’m so hard for you right now. I can’t wait to let you suck this dick.”

Rey could barely stand when the orgasm overtook her, a strangled cry falling from her lips as she bucked against his leg. His lips were pressed to her temple while she rode out the waves of her climax.

“So good…” he murmured, stroking her back. “Oh that was so good. I could watch you do that all day.”

He expected her to stay snuggled against him, curled beneath his chin, resting on his leg, but again she surprised him, her hands going right to the button of his trousers. Before he could say a word she’d pulled his cock free from his black boxer briefs and was stroking it from base to tip, licking her lips hungrily.

“Fuck Rey,” he said, resting his head against the doorframe. “Go on then, give me your mouth.”

She pulled away for a moment and smiled up at him before pulling the old t-shirt over her head, finally revealing her beautiful pale, creamy tits with their dark, tight nipples. He reached down and thumbed one of them again, unable to resist the warm, satin soft skin of her breast. Going up on her knees, Rey pushed her tits together, letting him thrust up between the warm flesh to the waiting tip of her tongue. She moved his hands, guiding him to hold her tight around him and he pushed slowly into the warmth of her mouth, groaning at how she swirled her tongue around the broad head. It had been years since Ben was afraid of blowing too early, but now he had to draw back, away from the heat of her breasts, the eagerness of her tight, sucking mouth. He gripped himself tight at the base and watched Rey wipe her mouth with the back of her hand.

“Hold on peach…I don’t want to yet …”

“Why not?” She said, the corner of her mouth turning up, “like you said we’ve got all night.”

Going up on her knees again he watched her draw her palm between her legs, coating her fingers in the creamy wet remains of her orgasm. He let her crawl toward him and slick his cock with her own fragrant juices before sucking him down again. If she was challenged by his size she made no mention of it and he was shocked when she took him all the way to the back of his throat, humming appreciatively around his thick erection, her tongue curled around the shaft.

“Do you want it?” He breathed, feeling the darker side of his lust seeping through his pores. “Do you want all of it, little Rey?”

He looked down to see her hand moving between her legs. She nodded as she sucked and he threaded his fingers through her hair, gripping tight to the back of her skull. It was everything in him not to viciously fuck her throat, not to pull out and bury himself in again, but he stayed still until he felt her looking up at him, eyes wide, her beautiful lips stretched around him, cheeks flushed red with want.

“I want to fuck your mouth, girl. Do you want me to do that? Do you want me to pour my come down your throat?”

She paused in her work and he pulled back. Her hand had stopped moving. She was nervous and he hated it. He wanted her to want everything he gave her. He wanted her to beg for it because she wanted it so badly. In fact the thought of it tightened his balls, a tingling at the base of his spine. What he really wanted was just to fuck her, all of this could come later. So he pulled out of her mouth completely and went to the floor, pulling her into his lap. She looked worried and reached for his cock as if to placate him.

“I’ll do it,” she said enthusiastically. “I’ll take all of it Ben, let me swallow it…I’ll do it.”

Fortunately he was much stronger than her and easily pulled her hand away, arranging her so she straddled his thighs. He held her face in his hands and kissed her.

“I know you would, peach, but I don’t want that right now,” he said, nipping at her bottom lip, “I want to be inside you. I want to kiss you when I fill you up. I want to watch you come on my cock. Will you do that for me first?”

Before he even finished the question she was lowering herself onto him, closing her eyes to properly feel the fullness, the stretch of his thick length sliding into her, fitting them together. This was what she wanted. This was what she couldn’t put into words earlier when he’d asked.

When he was fully sheathed in her heat he reached for her hips, holding her still as he drank in the feeling of finally being inside her, finally holding her against his skin, smooth and warm. He ran his hands up her back and leaned into suck one of her nipples between his lips.

“Oh my god,” she whispered under her breath, her hips slowly rolling over him. “Please…more…come inside me…please…”

He could feel her clenching around his shaft as she held his head to her breast, fingers tangled in his hair. Her hips moved faster, finding a steady rhythm that rocked her clit against his pelvis. It wouldn’t be long for him, but he wanted her to come again. He wanted to feel her shaking. He wanted to swallow her screams.

“Go on,” he said, thrusting up into her. “Take what you need, peach. Then I’ll fill you up.”

The last words stuttered from his mouth as she started to whine, bouncing over his length, her ass slapping against his thighs.

“I’m going…I want to…” she pulled his hands up to her tits and he massaged them in his palms, entranced by the look of blissful agony on her face, her mouth fallen open, her hair stuck to her damp cheeks.

“Come for me Rey, go on, come on my cock.”

The crashing wave of pleasure drowned her again and she fell against his chest, her whole body stiffening as the aftershocks ran through her blood. Only a second later she felt his grip tighten around her, and a hard thrust upward as he finally came, hissing the air through his teeth, his fingers digging into her arms.

“So good, God you feel so good…oh fuck,”

For a while they sat on the hallway floor in silence, still fully intertwined, their skin damp with sweat, Rey’s head resting on his chest, listening to his heart. 

Years ago she’d been tasked with repairing it. She was supposed to feed him healthy food and get him fresh air. She’d been charged with keeping him away from the things that had threatened to destroy him, his broken heart healing over in the time she’d been there. She’d been afraid she wasn’t up to the challenge. She hadn’t said any of these things out loud but still she felt him whisper into her hair,

“Thank you Rey.”

She pulled back and smiled at him, tracing her fingertip over the outline of his lips.

“You’re welcome, Mr. Solo. Was there anything else you needed tonight?”

He rolled his eyes at the sound of her “employee tone” and lifted her off of his lap, the two of them standing in the gathering darkness of the foyer.

“There’s a lot more I want from you, little chef. But I’m not doing any of it until we get upstairs.”

The smile on her face faded a bit and she went up on her toes to kiss him again, threading her fingers through his hair.

“It’s not fair. You’re much better than Aaron Hempstead.”

“At acting I hope you mean,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

She shrugged and smiled and he tickled her ribs before easily throwing her over his shoulder and slapping her naked ass loud enough to make her squeal. As they made their way up to his bedroom, (where she would spend every night from then on) she couldn’t resist pinching his naked ass.

“You should have won,” she said, holding tight to his sides as he easily carried her up the narrow staircase.

At the top of the stairs he set her on her feet and smiled; one of those wide, rare genuine smiles that she’d only seen a handful of in all her days at his house.

“I think I did, peach,” he said, before taking her hand and pulling her toward the bedroom.


End file.
